Namaste India

This really should have been the first post on my blog, but to quote my favorite author from my favorite book "A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead." And as the tuk-tuk driver had been the impetus to finally publish blog content I will accept that as a first step on a journey with no planned destination. 

So it is sitting here in Jangpura, New Delhi, that I find myself amused by the simplicity of my thoughts when Dimitri, Nicole and I decided to trek across the world for nine months to India. It seemed like such a good idea at the time - who wouldn't want to go to an exotic country filled with historic buildings and inhabited by gorgeous people in bright colorful saris (the women of course - I wasn't quite that ignorant) walking down cobbled roads or across lush lawns staring into the dark handsome countenances of crisp linen clad lovers suddenly spurred to impromptu  song and dance routines. Okay, I confess I might have watched a few too many Bollywood movies in preparation for this adventure, and didn't really expect this vision when arriving at Indira Gandhi Airport, but the huge chromed mudras against the walls of the airport, I was sure, were an auspicious sign (auspicious/inauspicious signs are very important in India ), and leaving the airport in a car that was both air conditioned and could contain our thirteen bulging bags of luggage seemed totally like a  second sign. It's true, this branch of the Putilin family does not travel light, but like the scouts we pride ourselves on always being prepared for every calamity and/or celebration. The rain gently misted on the windshield of the vehicle, we arrived as the monsoon departed ( another auspicious sign?), putting a soft focus filter on our first view of India and New Delhi. Arriving at the beautifully appointed Vandanam bed and breakfast in Safdurjang just made my sleep deprived reverie continue. 

Nicole slept through the night – yet another sign that the pantheon of Hindu gods were pleased at our arrival. The poor girl was so tired after the 14 hour flight from Newark. Coming to think of it though that was the last night in two weeks that we did sleep through the night. Jet lag seems to have a definite equation in India . One person equals a few days of disrupted sleep, a couple equals a few days squared and a couple and a nineteen month old baby a few days cubed. So for the first fourteen nights we seemed to go to bed at three in the afternoon every day, after looking at one after the other rather dreary apartment (or as they call them here "flats"), wake up at seven pm partially comatose, then back to sleep at ten and then play time while eating sweets from the local sweet store from three to five am.

The realtor that had been assigned to us, Kaillash, soon got nicknamed (by us) as "lesser Kaillash" to differentiate him from the posh suburb Greater Kaillash with which he shared only a name and none of its’ impressive attributes. "Lesser Kaillash" might in fact be the worst realtor in New Delhi, if not India, or as we suspect have the most limited property portfolio but a great tactic. First he shows you apartments that make you want to weep- I believe one Fulbrighter did in fact (and not with happiness)- and then springs on you an apartment less dreadful than the rest  and you are so relieved that you jump at the privilege of living in a dark apartment on sticks of furniture and  rush to sign on the line before he threatens to show you the hovel de jour.

The only thing that was more limited than “lesser Kaillash’s” inventory was his ability to speak English. Once while we were looking at yet another dark apartment (one of the more attractive ones – we almost signed on this one) Dimitri went off to buy some water while we waited for the landlord to bring the key to the apartment. Fifteen minutes later my phone rings – Dimitri was lost in the nearby slum and was hoping that “lesser” could lead him back from the local Domino’s Pizza parlor. I asked the realtor if he could take his motorcycle and fetch Dimitri. Total non-comprehension was suddenly etched across his face, next thing he is calling Rohit, our Fulbright facilitator, who then calls me to hear what the problem is. After me telling him , Rohit calls Dimitri for directions and then he calls “lesser” explaining the situation to him. I might have left out a few calls, but it was pretty much a French farce with phone calls instead of closets.

Things to know when dealing with a “Lesser Kaillash” as you might if you win a Fulbright to New Delhi :

1)     Never tell him exactly what your budget is- the same dreary basement apartments will either cost r26 400 ( the Fulbright allowance) or r50 000. Your budget determines what the asking price is;

2)     All apartments are exactly five minutes away from the metro line – when you try walking it will never take less than twenty minutes though;

3)     Working with Lesser you must tell him exactly what you want in an apartment, be very specific even give him a list, he will completely ignore everything you asked for but at least you will feel like you have contributed to the process;

4)     Never tell him you like an apartment but want to see other apartments as your phone will ring at ten pm where you will be told that apartments in Delhi go very quickly so you had better hop on this deal;

After ten days of crawling through a variety of slum tenements throughout Delhi South we found 99acres.com thanks to the Fulbright India facebook page and from there a broker called Dheeraj at Guldshan Properties who spoke English and seemed to have a really good stock of properties on his books. Within three days we found an apartment in Jangpura Ext. and a week later we were living with a roommate in a three bedroomed apartment and we have numerous air conditioners, although the bathroom plumbing either dribbles or explodes or alternates. But that’s just one of the unexpected joys of living in India. If you want Dheeraj’s number just send me a note.

Dheeraj was the total antithesis of Lesser – he even made notarized copies of the apartment lease and raced to deliver them to us at the FRRO offices when we went to register. He bought a remote control for the TV, brought spare sets of the keys, arranged and attended numerous meetings with the landlord. And found an awesome apartment for Fulbright friends in Defense Colony. As you can see we really think Dheeraj is the man.– hmmm I wonder why he never showed us that apartment? 

A month after coming to New Delhi, I have constant noises in my ears like tinnitus, but it’s actually traffic honking for no damn reason or fireworks going off or the security guard patrolling with his whistle (but that’s totally another story), and my feet are constantly doused in urine as I walk to the stores, I have also been offered free clothing if I am willing to have a private measurement session in my apartment, but you know I kind of like India.

  

Read before hailing that tuk-tuk

 Anybody who has ever been to India will probably think the story I am writing today is an urban myth, because nothing like this has ever happened in India and never will. And anybody who has ever taken a tuk-tuk in Delhi will definitely think that I should start the tale off with this happened to a friend of mine, so you could scoff, but this happened to us today.

This afternoon we went to Lodi Garden – Delhi's answer to Central Park, with a few 16th century Muslim monuments thrown in for extra charm. Nicole loved playing around in the garden, and Indian couples secretly defied the strict moral code by necking wickedly in shady places. At 5:15pm we were ready to call it a day so off we went to where the mass of tuk-tuk drivers congregate to hopefully catch a ‘forner” and charge an exorbitant fare to wherever the same intended to go.  The correct price for the trip is around 35 rupees as anybody Indian could attest to, but a tuk-tuk driver when confronted by a “ forner” passenger will typically start by asking 100 (unless you’re a “forner” woman on your own then it starts at 150 rupees).  The look of indignation if you make an offer below 50 is too dreadful to contemplate.

Getting to the point, we see an autorickshaw (tuk-tuk driver) and tell him where we're going, and offer 30 rupees.  He says, "20 rupees".  “What?!”  Dimitri checked 4 times to make sure he did not mean 200 and just had really bad English.  But no, he insisted he wanted 20 rupees. In fact to ensure we understood what he was asking he showed us his ten fingers twice in rapid succession and said “Twenty rupees”

Not wanting to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, yet still sure that this driver was obviously more cunning than most other tuk-tuk drivers and that the trap has just been set for a major argument on arrival at our home in Jangpura, we get into the rickshaw. The other tuk-tuk drivers are jeering at him in Hindi and he jeers right back at them good naturedly. Within seconds he turns around and asks how we like India. I remember being really nervous as this guy really should be watching the road, but Dimitri makes polite conversation by saying: "We like it very much.  Very nice country."  Awaiting the smooth prattle of a conman, Dimitri and I are horrified to hear him respond "I hate India," and continues with an even more damning  "India is the worst country in the world."  Whoa, okay. This is no Rashid the patriot, is he?  "Where would you rather be?" Dimitri asks probably not too wisely, as the response was more than likely going to be America -- because there is so much money and people can do what they want, etc.  Instead we are hit with a "I would rather be with God.  This world is a terrible place.  There is no place I want to be except with God."  He also mentions that he is very unhappy.  Dimitri started wondering if this is the day this driver was going to decide to finally drive his tuk-tuk into a bridge support, taking us with him.  Of course we would at worst break a limb, as the maximum speed of this three wheeler is around twenty noisy, horn accented miles per hour. We could survive that.  On the down side, their construction is modeled roughly after an aluminum coca-cola can.  So maybe this really was going to be our day to meet our Maker.

Our nervousness turns to wonderment and confusion when he proceeds to tell us that even if Dimitri gives him one rupee when we get to the destination, he will be perfectly content because his only joy is to serve others.  If he can do something for us, like get us to where we’re going, he does not need anything else. Dimitri looks more convinced than I was. I am thinking to myself this guy is obviously on Risperdal and this is the day he hasn’t taken his medicine. After he starts saying that there is no God -- and then that the only God is Nicole pointing fixedly at her, I started thinking “uh oh – this dude is definitely nine pence short of a shilling and we had better hope he has good intentions with his new found God and her parents.”  

It's really a short ride from Lodi Gardens to Jangpura, but this was probably the least dull one. Every time we would say something his answers would be yet another surprise. On asking him how he picked up his nearly perfect English (this man spoke English as well as any outsourced customer service operator – the best we've come across for a non-native speaker).  "From you people," he replies, meaning foreigners.  He has never had a formal lesson, but just picked it up.  As he speaks, it becomes increasingly clear that the man is very intelligent.

"What is your religion?" I ask him.  "Are you Hindu?"  "No, I'm not a Hindu, or a Muslim, or anything else.  All religion is false.  They only want your money" he shoots back, leaving me a little dazed at where to take the conversation from that rebuff.  Dimitri who is always up for an unusual encounter is ready for this discussion. When the tuk-tuk driver asks Dimitri what happiness is, and Dimitri answers “it's having love for everyone”, he says that is external happiness, which is not true happiness – it does not last. The true happiness, he says, is getting to know who you really are, and what you came here to do.  "Have you done that?" Dimitri-the-lover-of-philosophy asks.  He tells Dimitri that he has, and that his goal in life is to do something to make sure that he would never be born again.  At this point, even Dimitri is unsure about where to take this conversation next.  As he speaks, I hear in him a truly curious combination of deep spirituality and unhappiness -- which presents a conundrum  for Dimitri, who is in India to do his research on “Spirituality and psychological well-being”.   "When we get home, give him 50 rupees and invite him for dinner," I whisper to Dimitri.  Dimitri says he had been thinking exactly the same thing (including the same amount).

He gets us home, and Dimitri offers him 50 rupees.  He refuses and only takes 20. In fact counts out the change from the fifty rupee note and gives Dimitri "I have money" he tells us, showing Dimitri the money in his wallet.  He later tells us that the few thousand rupees in his wallet is all the money he has in the world.  Other autorickshaw drivers try to overcharge foreigners, and make as much 3000 rupees in a day. Then, they spend it on drinking and gambling  - easy come, easy go.  He prefers to live in the present moment, he says, so he does not overcharge and only makes about 500 rupees a day.   We are standing near the entrance to our house, talking about God and spirituality.  He tells me eternal truths that have been taught in every religion since the dawn of time, he doesn’t sound Hindu, he sounds like a Buddhist monk, or a Jain ascetic. When he talks about where people are going wrong, it becomes clear that it oppresses him to be in a world that's so far from God and so filled with every kind of corruption. He doesn’t seem to have a place in his life for any attachments – he says he has no wife and wants none as they have too many needs , mostly those that that he should fulfill.

We talk about God and Dimitri tells him that God is in everyone, and he seems to be really struck by that idea.  We invite him to dinner.  "I can't sit down to dinner with people like you," he replies.  "I am an autorickshaw driver," he continues, pointing to his featureless light-gray uniform and stereotypically beaten up tuk-tuk. That uniform has always struck me as very sad – a color designed to conceal the effects of being exposed to New Delhi exhaust and pollution twelve hours a day or more. "What does that matter?"  Dimitri says.  "You're a human being just like me, and we're finding speaking to you fascinating.  I used to clean parks when I was younger."  "In India, it doesn't work that way."  "We're not from India," I reply, but he is clearly perturbed by the suggestion and very unsure.  I get the feeling (as does Dimitri) that he is wondering if we rich and fancy people are looking to use him for our amusement.

I run upstairs to change Nicole as we have another appointment. Ten minutes later a freshly attired Nicole and I return to the front gate to find Dimitri and Shakir (that turns out to be his name) still discussing the oneness of all nature. Dimitri offers him dinner at any time.  Shakir says he would give us his number and he would call us or we could call him, but it would have to be on a Sunday and he would only eat very simple dishes - daal, rice and naan; but we could eat whatever we wanted.

We will call him on Sunday and hopefully he will come over for lunch, but if he chooses not to -- be on the look out for a Sadhu (ascetic renunciate) who drives a tuk-tuk in Delhi. He might change your view of India.